


Smutty Sundays

by MissBegottenLit (SoulTinkerer)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, One Shot, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 16:37:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6016822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulTinkerer/pseuds/MissBegottenLit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Smutty Stony one-shots, because why the hell not?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sex Hair

Tony liked to keep his hair neat.

Well, maybe "neat" was the wrong word. He didn't keep it slick and combed like Steve did with all his 1940's etiquette. But he didn't keep it flowing and loose and free like Thor, either. Try as he might, he just couldn't pull off the Disney Princess look quite like the God of Thunder could.

But that didn't mean he couldn't look like a suave, badass, hot mess. That was, of course, exactly the sort of look he went for and took great pains to pull off, and the centerpiece of that look was his hair. He would smudge oil and grease on his face, singe his eyebrows, ruin his clothes, but once he got his hair coiffed and styled the way he wanted it, he never mussed it up. Call it an old man's vanity. It was more than that though; it was something of a metaphor-something he'd kept going for years, ever since he'd had that odd, bordering-on-civil conversation with his father.

"Why do your socks never match?" he'd asked.

"I'm too busy to waste time matching socks," Howard had said, and wow, wasn't that the way of it? Of course he hadn't had time to match his damn socks. He hadn't even had time to hug his son. But then Howard had stopped doing whatever he had been doing, filling out papers, or reading a book, or looking over schematics. He'd looked at Tony over the top of his reading glasses and said, "It's silly, but I suppose it's a bit of a metaphor. The world wants to control everything about us-down to what kind of socks we wear. It's easier to follow the rules, but people like you and me chafe at rules and authority, so I wear mismatched socks. It's a tiny, pitiful rebellion, Tony. Nothing more."

Since then, he'd latched on to the idea of a metaphor, a silent _fuck you_ to the world and its rules, a clue he could leave out in plain sight to show anyone who bothered to pay attention what he was _really_ like. It was his hair. He knew he made it look effortless, the unruly, artfully tousled style he'd rocked for years. In reality, it took him the better part of half an hour and three different hair products to pull it off. But that's how it was with everything. Being a genius wasn't easy. There was next to no sleep, caffeine addictions, and more explosions than he thought entirely necessary, but he worked damn hard to make it _look_ easy. Being Iron Man wasn't easy, but if there was one thing the entire world was looking for, it was a chink in his armor, so he had to make it seem like being an Avenger was as easy as breathing.

He was so good at keeping this facade up, he thought sometimes that Howard would be proud. His metaphor was firmly in place, had been for years, and would be until the day he died, no matter what. Come hell or high water, alien invasion, A.I. apocalypse, or angry, Hulked-out Bruce Banner, he'd have his hair under control.

The one exception seemed to be sex.

"Where'd you go?" Steve said, breaking off their kiss and running his hands through Tony's hair until they cupped the back of his head.

He was thinking of his father while having a pre-sex make out session with Steve, and holy hell, that was… something. Probably not a metaphor. More like a psychoanalyst's wet dream. Whatever it was, it had successfully distracted him enough that he hadn't been giving the kiss the attention it deserved.

"Sorry," he breathed and leaned in to kiss his lips lightly before moving on to kiss and suck and nip at the sensitive skin of his neck.

Steve still had his shirt on, and that was annoying, but the paydirt was down below. He fumbled with Steve's belt as he paid special attention to the soft, sensitive spot where neck met shoulder. He finally undid the buckle and slid Steve's jeans and boxers down over his hips, going to his knees as he did so. Steve was hard already, his breaths coming in shaky gasps. Tony knew it was the sight of him on his knees that undid him so quickly, and he loved it, loved that he could submit like this but still be perfectly in control. That never seemed to work with anyone but Steve.

He ran his tongue down the long, hard shaft of Steve's cock before sucking one of his balls into his mouth. Steve bit back a groan and put a hand lightly on Tony's head, his fingers twining through his hair. He wanted Steve's fist to tighten in his hair like it would sometimes when Tony got him really hot and bothered. He wanted Steve to grab two fistfuls of hair and hold him still while he fucked his mouth.

Tony kept licking and teasing for a while, sucking at Steve's balls, licking up and down his cock, his tongue swirling around the tip once or twice, hinting at actually sucking it into his mouth. Eventually, the hand in his hair tightened, his scalp burned, and Steve groaned. "Quit teasing," he said, breathless, pulling off his shirt.

He pulled away long enough to smile up at him. "Make me."

And it was, of course, the perfect thing to say, because an instant later, Steve's hands caught a fistful of hair each and yanked, giving Tony no choice but to open wide, swallow his cock, and try not to choke. Steve fucked his mouth mercilessly, and Tony was unsure if this was some kind of retaliation for the teasing, or if Steve really was that far gone. Either way, Tony had to fight to breathe, and fight not to choke, and fight not to come. It was interesting how often sex with Steve felt like a battle. That one was probably a metaphor, but he'd have to think about it later. Right now he had Steve's cock sliding in and out of his mouth, leaking salty precome, Steve's hands tangled in his hair, gripping so tightly his scalp tingled and burned, and Steve's eyes on him, big and blue and reverent. It was almost enough to make him come untouched.

Suddenly, Steve pulled away. He hauled Tony up and all but threw him onto the bed. He whisked Tony's oil-stained Black Sabbath t-shirt off over his head and ran his hands down his chest, taking care to avoid the arc reactor. Anyone touching the little circle of light was a better boner-killer for Tony than just about anything. Steve wrested him out of his jeans, and Tony lifted his hips to help.

Steve stretched out on top of him, finally giving Tony the full body contact he'd been craving since he'd walked into the bedroom and shoved him up against the wall. He took a moment to kiss Tony's sore and abused mouth, to grind their hips together and make him moan embarrassingly loud before pulling away. Steve only went far enough to be able to grab his hips and flip him over onto his stomach, pulling him up so he rested on his knees and elbows.

Tony waited, anticipation growing and escaping in a shiver as Steve shifted behind him and fiddled with something he couldn't see. Then Steve's hands were on his ass, his slick, lubed-up fingers pressing at his hole until slipping in, stretching him, prepping him for the main event, and it was a big one. After a minute or two, the fingers disappeared. Steve pressed a hand to the small of Tony's back as his cock nudged at him.

"Oh, God," Tony breathed and pressed his face into the pillow as the head of Steve's cock breached him and started working its way inside slowly, because rough sex was one thing and pain was another. But Steve knew this, so he was slow and careful and attentive, and if it burned as Steve's cock slid in and filled him up, well then, it was a good kind of burn.

Steve grabbed a handful of hair and pulled Tony's head back until his neck stretched and it grew a tiny bit difficult to breathe. "No," Steve said, his voice rough, his breath warm in Tony's ear. "No 'God'. Only name you say in bed is mine, remember?"

Tony nodded and shivered because _fuck_ that was hot, and if anyone had ever told Tony how mind-blowingly sexy and dominant Captain America would be in bed, he would have found him in the ice years before SHIELD. He never would have stopped looking.

After a moment, Steve started moving again, slowly at first, but he worked his way up to a brutal, pounding pace. Soon the only sounds in the room were the wet slapping of flesh on flesh and the whispered, smothered swearing as they both tried to gain some semblance of control over themselves. It didn't take Tony long-with Steve's cock up his ass, it rarely did. He could feel the orgasm shivering and shocking its way up and down his limbs, electric, stronger than even the first surge he'd felt when Yinsen had helped him install the arc reactor. When he reached for his cock, Steve slapped his hand out of the way and did it for him. It only took a few strokes of Steve's hand before Tony came, biting back a shout of pleasure.

Steve kept fucking him, stretching out his aftershocks of pleasure even as his rhythm deteriorated and devolved into mindless rutting. He grabbed Tony's hair once again, and Tony was beginning to think he was sensing a kink here, when the hand tightened and Steve came with a moan.

Tony's strength finally gave out. He sagged down onto the rumpled comforter. Steve collapsed beside him, and they lay there like that for a long moment, a tangled pile of sticky, sweaty limbs.

"Jesus, Tony," Steve said after a while. He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. "Why do you do that to me?" Fucker had the audacity to sound winded.

"Do what?"

"Make me lose it like that."

Tony laughed. "What can I say? I need company here in Crazy Town."

Steve reached over and ran a gentle hand through Tony's sweaty, messy hair before pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

Metaphor be damned. Sex hair was great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, now that the actual story is out of the way: I got this little fic from this old prompt over on avengerkink: Tony likes to keep his hair neat. Except when he's having really good sex, then he doesn't care if you yank it till it nearly comes out. I've never really written much smut before. I hope you liked it!
> 
> I have this crazy long list of one-shots and prompts I would like to write, so the plan here is for me to post one smutty one-shot every Sunday, mostly because it sounds like a fun challenge. They'll be unconnected (probably) but will all be organized in one story for the sake my sanity. Odds are they'll all be Stony, but if another pairing grabs me by the throat and won't let go, or if someone gives me a prompt I can't resist, I'll give it a shot!


	2. Say Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of very-long-ago past Stucky so... heads up, I guess?

Sex for Steve had always been secret: a quick blowjob in the woods where it was so dark he couldn’t even see Bucky’s face, being bent over a rickety table in the little London room he’d rented for the night only to be interrupted by the blitz, a shaky handjob and desperate, hungry kisses in Italy fueled by relief more than need because he was _alive,_ and if HYRDA had killed him, Steve would have burnt them alive and pissed on the ashes...

...Grinding and kissing like teenagers in a closet at SHIELD, because experience told him that was what he did with mouthy, witty assholes who were too brave for their own good.

No matter the decade, sex was always hurried, frantic, and, above all things, quiet.

So if it felt good when Tony sucked his cock into his warm, wet mouth, he showed it by squeezing his eyes shut and biting his bottom lip.

Tony bobbed his head up and down, sucking and licking while Steve threaded his fingers through his hair and resisted the urge to grip harder or thrust up into his mouth. Tony kept it up for a while, using all of his prodigious skill to build Steve up and then back off the moment before orgasm, gripping the base of his cock tightly to keep him from coming.

The third time this happened, Steve panted and gritted his teeth, smothering his groan in its cradle. The wonderful feeling of Tony touching his cock disappeared almost immediately. “No, no, no,” Tony said. “You’re not getting away with that tonight. You’re so quiet, sometimes I think I’m doing this all by myself. Tonight I want you to make some noise.”

Steve just frowned, tangled his hands in the sheets, and didn’t say a word.

Quiet was privacy and secrecy. Quiet was dignity. Quiet was survival.

Tony would never understand that, because he was never quiet. If Tony’s life ever depended on him not having the last word in an argument, Steve was sure he would die. But it was more than that. He was sure their teammates’ reactions would range from indifference to baking a celebratory cake, but some things--even good, healthy things-- were private. The feeling of cool, soft sheets and warm, smooth skin, the blue-white glow of the arc reactor illuminating every touch… those things didn’t belong to anyone else.

Almost as if he could read his mind, Tony said, “I don’t need you to scream, Steve. I don’t want to keep everyone else up all night, and if I wanted the others to know we were fucking I’d send them a candygram, but I’m not doing anything until you make some sort of noise.” His fingers ran lightly up and down Steve’s cock, teasing. “Say something. Tell me what you want.”

Steve sighed, and, realizing he was never going to get Tony to let this go, he said, “I want you to kiss me.”

Tony smiled and crawled up the bed. He pressed his lips to Steve’s as he ground his hips down. Steve gasped at the feeling of their groins pressed and rubbed together. Taking advantage, Tony slipped his tongue into his mouth and kissed him like he meant it, all sliding tongue and biting teeth, until finally he pulled away and breathlessly said, “Clever, keeping your mouth busy like that, but you’re not off the hook yet. What now?”

Steve shook his head.

“You’re usually blue in the face from barking orders--”

“Why can’t you ever stop talking?” Steve said, pulling him closer for another hard, hungry kiss.

“One of us has to say--” Tony said after they broke apart.

“I want you to fuck me,” Steve said, giving in.

“Mm,” Tony agreed. “Slow and easy or hard and fast?”

Again, Steve just shook his head.

“You’re not getting off that easy,” Tony said, his hand slipping down between Steve’s legs to play with what he found. “Tell me what you want.”

He wanted to come. He wanted Tony to shut up for once. He wanted to forget about Bucky just long enough to enjoy and love the cocky, brilliant man in his bed the way he deserved to be enjoyed and loved. “I don’t care,” he said, his voice breaking.

Tony must have heard it because instead of pushing the issue further, he pressed a surprisingly chaste kiss to Steve’s lips and slipped a finger inside of him. “Bit of both then,” he said. He made quick work of prepping Steve after that. Another finger joined the one already inside him, and once he was slick and ready, Tony sat back on his knees, Steve’s legs spread on either side of him. The arc reactor cast strange, cold shadows on his face as he took his cock in hand and guided it into Steve’s opening, working his way in slowly. Once he was all the way in, he leaned forward and kissed him again.

It was actually easier like this, Steve realized. Usually he liked it when Tony bent him over a table or took him on all fours on the bed or floor--and when the mood struck them, Steve gave as good as he got. But like this, on his back with Tony between his legs, and his open, loving face only inches from his own, it was easier to remember what decade he was in.

Steve needed all the help he could get in that department because as soon as Tony started moving inside him, his brain turned to mush. It was a slow, gentle ride at first. Tony would pull almost entirely out of him before sliding back in and filling him up. He continued this way for a while, pressing little kisses to Steve’s mouth, licking and sucking at his tender neck. And Steve decided he loved this easy pace, loved luxuriating in the feeling of Tony inside of him, loved seeing all the minute expressions on his face: a bloom of emotion, a scowl and a muttered curse, a flicker as his self-control nearly deteriorated entirely. He loved the feeling of the arc reactor digging into his chest.

They maintained this slow slide for what felt like hours and no time at all. Tony would occasionally hit the tangle of white-hot nerves inside Steve and send waves of pleasure rolling through him, but Steve could tell he wasn’t doing it on purpose. He was stretching this out, waiting for either his self-control to break or for Steve to finally make a sound. For a long while Steve had been determined not to lose, but one such wave of pleasure made him suck in a breath, wrap his legs around Tony, and pull him closer. “Harder,” he said.

It was only one word, but the smirk on Tony’s face said he knew he’d won. He snapped his hips forward and Steve let out a breathy little noise that was too quiet to be a groan. Tony did it again and again, pounding into him and setting a brutal pace. At one point he pried Steve’s hands away from his shoulders so he could lean back, grip his hips and pull him back onto his cock over and over, angling his hips just right so that in a matter of seconds he had Steve gasping and writhing on the bed, reaching for something to hold onto and finding nothing but the sheets.

Steve was half expecting Tony to demand he make some noise or say something before he would let him come, so he almost cried out in relief when he did no such thing. Tony merely wrapped a hand around his cock and started jerking him off in time with his heavy, pounding thrusts. When the orgasm built, Steve didn’t fight it. Their couplings were usually frantic, heated, bordering-on-violent. His climaxes even more so, whether it was Tony or Bucky in bed with him didn’t seem to matter in that regard. But this one was a long, slow burn that spun on and on. He bit his lip and held back the name he wanted to shout as Tony continued to fuck him all the way through.

Finally, when Steve was limp and exhausted, his lip sore and bloody from where he’d bit it to keep quiet, Tony came with a moan. It was a quiet moan that Steve knew only he could hear.

Still inside him, Tony leaned forward and kissed him again, gently, his ticking flicking at the swollen, sore spot where he’d bitten himself. “Why don’t you ever make any noise?” he asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Steve shrugged the best he could with Tony still on top on him. “Just habit, I guess.”

It was a cowardly lie. The truth was he was afraid he’d let something slip. He was afraid that here in the dark, with all their quiet lovemaking, that he’d say the wrong name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’ve never really shipped Stucky before, but after writing this filthy thing, damn, I just might ship it now… Are there supposed to be feels in smut? #ihavenoideawhatimdoing
> 
> Anyway, this was the prompt (again from somewhere over on avengerkink): Years of keeping quiet doing anything sexual have been ingrained into Steve. If he makes noise, it's through gritted teeth and barely heard. Same with swearing, all whispered. It freaks out Any, because they are doing some filthy nasty cum-wadded shit in bed. Does Any try to get Steve to raise the volume?
> 
> I might have been a bit liberal in my interpretation, but meh. Hope you enjoyed it!


	3. Number 53 on Tony Stark's Bucket List

“Is there a light in here? I can’t see a thing--”

“Wait for it…” Tony said. He elbowed Steve in the ribs as he struggled with something in the limited space they had. “Wait for it… ta da!” He dropped his t-shirt to the floor, letting the light of the arc reactor shine unimpeded. Little as it was, it did a fair job illuminating the cramped closet. “Biggest development in green energy in thirty years, powers the suit, keeps me alive,  _ and  _ acts as a built in nightlight. Way to go, little buddy,” he said, looking down at the circle of light and tapping it fondly.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Steve said, looking around at the clothes on hangers next to his face and shoes piled haphazardly on the floor.

“C’mon,” Tony said. “Bucket List Number 53--sex in a closet.”

He moved in close, placing a palm flat on the door on either side of Tony’s head, and said, his voice low, “You can’t tell me you’ve never had sex in a closet before.”

“I have, but not with one Steve Rogers. If I’m going to continue corrupting the symbol of America and the defender of all her ideals, you better believe I’m going to be thorough.” 

Talking, always so much talking with Tony. He decided to shut him up in the only way that consistently worked; he leaned in and caught Tony’s mouth in a voracious kiss. Tony hummed in approval and wrapped his arms around him, fingers digging into his shoulders and scraping down his back, nails catching on the fabric. Steve ran his hands down Tony’s sides and began to kiss his way down his neck. 

Tony arched, his hands slipping under Steve’s t-shirt to slide against his hot skin. “I wonder if I should make a whole new list that specifies doing you in certain places--just to make sure the two of us cover everything,” he said, a bit breathlessly. “Number 11--Shower sex with Steve Rogers.”

Steve leaned his body against Tony’s, pressing them together from shoulder to knee. He could feel Tony’s cock, hard like his own, through the fabric of their clothes.

“Number 24--Sex on the beach with Steve Rogers.”

He pressed his lips to Tony’s neck and realized he could feel his heart hammering, his pulse picking up as he sucked in fast, furtive breaths.

“Number 27--Sex in every bed I own with Steve Rogers.” 

Tony managed to worm his hand between then and undo the button of his jeans. His hand slipped in and wrapped around his cock and stroked it lightly. Steve buried his face in the crook of his neck and groaned at the sensation.

“Number 36--Sex in the National Air and Space Museum.”

That one caught Steve’s attention, and he pulled away. “Not  _ ‘with Steve Rogers’ _ ?”

“I haven’t done that one at all yet,” he explained.

He let out a little laugh and said, his voice catching as Tony’s hand continued to slid up and down his length, “That sure is a lot of sex.”

“What can I say? I started writing it when I was twelve,” he said with a shrug.

“How many things are on this list?” Steve asked, thinking again that Tony talked too much.

“Ninety-eight.”

“Well, here’s number ninety-nine,” Steve said, straddling his thigh and grinding against him. “Sex with Steve Rogers while wearing a gag.”

“Mmm, yes,” he sighed happily. “But being gagged would make it a bit difficult to do this.”

He dropped to his knees, taking Steve’s pants down with him. Usually when Tony went down on him, he would take his time--lick up and down his length, lave his balls, press the tip of his tongue into the slit. Not this time. He was either trying to drive Steve out of his mind, or he was impatient to get started. Either way, he smiled up at him as his cock sprung free of his clothes and then swallowed him down, taking him deep on the first go.

Steve let out a shout of pleasure before placing his hands on Tony’s head, threading his fingers through his hair. He was careful not to pull or to thrust his hips toward the warm, wet perfection around his cock. Tony bobbed his head quickly, his cheeks hollowing out as he sucked. Steve held out for a while and then hissed, He was a moment away from telling him to stop, because he was about to come down his throat and they hadn’t even started yet--

There was a knock on the door. Steve froze, a whimper dying in his throat. Tony kept working his tongue along the underside of his cock.

“Hey guys, when you reach a… a, uh, stopping point, could one of you hand me my jacket?” Bruce asked, his voice muffled slightly by the door between them.

He looked down at Tony on his knees, barely visible in the light of the arc reactor. Even so, he could see Tony staring up at him, a wicked glint in his eyes, and he showed no sign of stopping.

He took one hand away from Tony’s head, bit his fist for a moment to get himself under control, and asked, “Which one?” his voice only trembled a little. 

“The brown one.”

Steve practically ripped it off its hanger. He opened the door a crack, just enough to get his arm out and give Bruce an apologetic, red-faced smile. “Sorry about…” Tony chose that moment to suck him deep and swallow around him. He bit back what would have been a very undignified groan.

Bruce took the jacket and shrugged it on. He would have looked indifferent, if it weren’t for the slightest twinkle of amusement in his eyes. “Just don’t get spunk on any of my clothes and we’re good.”

“Can do.” He shut the door and groaned in disappointment as Tony pulled back, taking the soft, wet heat of his mouth away.

“Did he look like he was about to change?” he asked.

“What?” Steve asked, still trying to understand how the stuffy air of the closet could feel so cold against his hard, wet cock. “No.”

“Not even a shade?”

“No.”

“Damn, I was sure this would work.”

“Is this an experiment?” Steve asked, too turned on to be truly annoyed. “I thought we were doing this because it was on your bucket list.”

“There are lots of things I’m good at. Multitasking is one, this is another.” He sucked Steve’s cock back into his mouth, hard and fast and messy, taking it in over and over. 

Steve could only stand about a minute of this before he hauled Tony to his feet and spun them around, shoving Tony’s chest against the door with a loud  _ thunk _ and grinding against his ass. He still had his jeans on, and the fabric was rough against his wet, straining cock. Hurriedly, he pushed the offending garment down over Tony’s hips. Slipping his fingers into the crack of Tony’s ass, he found he was already slick with lube. 

“I’m also very good at planning ahead,” Tony quipped.

The thought of Tony fingering himself alone in his room, stretching and panting and straining at the mere  thought  of Steve’s cock was too much. He wasted no time widening his stance and shoving into him. Tony cried out and his hands skittered across the door, desperately searching for something to hold onto. Steve shoved into him again, and he shouted once more, almost as if he were in pain, before leaning his head back for a kiss. 

Their mouths bumped and slid together. He caught Tony’s bottom lip in his teeth briefly, and continued to nail him to the door. Tony had to stand on his tiptoes as Steve fucked him, and a solid stream of swearing was falling from his lips when they weren't kissing, even as he pushed against the door and back into Steve, keeping up with the ferocious pace he was setting. 

The small, dark closet seemed to heighten every sensation. He could feel his jeans around his knees, the t-shirt starting to stick to his sweaty back, Tony’s hips beneath his grip, hard bone beneath soft, smooth skin. His own breath was loud in his hears, and every time he sucked in air he could smell sweat and sex and Tony’s shampoo.

He forced himself to take one hand off Tony’s hips. He reached around and took his cock in his hand. Stroking it just the way Tony liked it--quick, sharp strokes with a little flick of the wrist by the head--Steve pressed his lips to the shell of his ear and said, “Bruce didn’t say anything about not getting come on his door.”

“Fuck,” Tony said, his voice ragged and breathy. Steve felt a shiver run through his body, and it only took a couple dozen more thrusts and a handful more flicks of his wrist before Tony was clenching around him and coming with a whimper.

Steve gripped his hips with both hands again, and after four or five more brutal thrusts, he came, his hips stuttering in and and out of Tony as his orgasm stretched on and on. Finally he stopped and sagged against him, pinning him to the door. He stayed inside him for a long moment, still twitching and zinging with aftershocks. 

“God,” Tony said, his voice ragged as Steve finally pulled out and stepped back. “I don’t even want to think about what this cleaning bill is going to be.”

Steve laughed and pulled his pants back up. “Just think of the bill after we have sex in every bed you own. How many is that, exactly?”

“At least a dozen in the Tower alone.”

“We can get started on that tomorrow,” Steve said with a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week’s prompt was literally: “Number 53 on Tony's Bucket List: Sex in a Closet”
> 
> After last week’s installment and all of the horrible, heartbreaking, gut wrenching, (amazing!) trash I’ve been reading lately, I needed something light and fluffy.


	4. Birthday Sex

“Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?” Steve asked, barging into the lab.

Tony gave him a cursory glance before focusing once again on the gauntlet before him. The suit's left repulsor had been acting up lately--if you could define accidentally almost shooting Thor's face off as _acting up_. “Believe it or not, it’s actually hard to remember," he said. "Reminding me and planning my party used to be Pepper’s job, but now she’s busy being CEO or Queen of the World or something.”

“How can you not remember your birthday?” Steve asked, incredulous. He stopped a foot away, his arms crossed across his chest.

“Well, not all of us are lucky enough to have our birthdays coincide with a national holiday,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. “Born on the Fourth of July and you grow up to be Captain Freaking America. I swear, it’s like someone made you up or something. Besides, I have more important things to do than remind that you everytime you fuck me, you're robbing the cradle." 

Steve scowled the way he did when he was trying to suppress a smile.

"Now why are you here?" Tony asked. "Is it to yell at me for forgetting my own birthday or to give me my present? I don't see a present anywhere, so--"

The rest of what he had to say disappeared as Steve hauled him to his feet and smashed their mouths together in a rough kiss. Their teeth clacked together in the instant it took Tony to react, but then he got his mouth under control, and there were several moments filled with nothing but sliding tongues and nipping teeth and wandering hands. 

"Mm, present it is then," Tony said after Steve pulled away, embarrassed by how out of breath he sounded. 

"Don't be so sure," Steve said, his voice a low growl.

"JARVIS, Sexy-Times Protocol," Tony said, arousal clenching tight in his stomach.

He'd given JARVIS the Sexy-Times Protocol after Barton had walked in on the two of them banging on the hood of his 1932 Ford. He'd thought the poor guy was going to go blind, and while Tony was sure Clint could still kick anyone's ass without being able to see it, he'd have to change his name. A guy named Hawkeye who couldn't see just didn't make any sense. Then they'd have to change all the SHIELD paperwork and codenames, not to mention the merchandise.

JARVIS locked down the lab and increased the tint on the windows as Steve spun him around and bent him over a work-bench. There was a moment of fumbling as Steve searched for the bottle of slick Tony kept handy in a drawer. It had only taken them one frustrated and ill-prepared encounter to learn that particular lesson. Then there was a rustle of fabric as his jeans were shoved down over his hips, the snap of the bottle cap, and then Steve's fingers were pushing their way inside him, cold, slick, and just rough enough to make him relish the burn.

Usually birthday sex had a lot more foreplay than this, but this was his first birthday sex with Steve, so he supposed he could let it slide. Besides, the feeling of Steve's fingers inside him, probing and searching, was perfectly wonderful. Then his fingers found that tight bundle of nerves and it was more than wonderful, it was transcendent, a glowing, pulsing pleasure that chased every single thought out of his head.

Steve had barely pushed his jeans down at all, so he had to reach down and tug his cock out, letting it spring free from the confines of his clothes. He hissed as he trailed his own calloused fingers up and down his length, but before he could really get started, Steve's fingers disappeared from inside him.

"No, no, no," Steve said, grabbing Tony's wrist and forcing him to press his hand to the table, palm down. "Getting to come is your birthday present, and you can't have it 'till I say you can."

Tony shivered, at the words as well as at the warm, wet breath against the back of his neck. Steve didn't move, and because he was a stubborn asshole, Tony knew he wouldn't move until he responded. Unable to form any words, he simply nodded fervently and pushed back against him, wanting to feel Steve's cock nudge at his ass, but feeling only fabric.

“Don’t be greedy,” Steve said, and then his fingers were back, stretching and twisting, finding that perfect spot and pulling him apart, atom by atom, from the inside out. He wrapped a hand around Tony's cock and stroked him, inside and out, until all he could do was writhe between Steve's hands and whine, too far gone to be embarrassed by the loss of control. Steve pressed hard inside of him and pulled a long, slow stroke down his cock, giving his wrist a little twist at the end, and then Tony was coming. Steve hadn't said he could, and if he'd been a bit more in control of himself, he might have said something about never being good at following orders anyway. As it was, the orgasm stretched out long and sweet, and he didn't even notice that he was rutting into Steve's hands and fucking himself on his fingers until he came back down again, panting and swearing.

Steve tsked. "Opening your present early... I should make you get on your knees for that," he said, nipping at his earlobe, and Tony shivered again and made an agreeable noise. “Maybe in a minute,” Steve said, his laugh warm and soft and somehow even better than the shattering orgasm he’d just given Tony. “Are you going to remember your birthday next year?”

Tony didn’t think he could even remember his own name right at that moment. “If I forget again, will you use the same, ah… method… to remind me?”

Steve pulled at Tony’s chin and turned his face to the side, kissing him slow and soft to make up for the epic face battle they’d had earlier. “Only if I can’t come up with something better,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is a bit short, but today is MY birthday, and while I enjoy writing smut, I have other methods of celebrating that I need to get around to. Nothing as exciting as what I wrote, but oh, well. :)


	5. I Can Fix That

"I thought running headlong into super-duper explodey buildings without backup was my job," Tony said as he sauntered into the kitchen, hands stuffed in the pockets of his worn-out jeans.

Steve himself was choking down a concoction SHIELD's doctors had whipped up--Clint called them Superhero Smoothies. It turned out keeping up with his 4-times faster than normal metabolism was no easy feat. These ones were worse than what the SSR had given him--those at least didn't try to taste like chocolate and fail miserably.

"You're getting after me for that?" Steve said, suppressing a shudder at the taste. "Bit hypocritical, don't you think?"

_ That _ was why he'd had to drink three of these disgusting calorie and protein drinks today instead of his usual one. The more active he was, the more he had to drink, and today had been a very active day.

"That's just my point,” Tony said, leaning against the counter. “I'm usually the one doing suicidally stupid things without waiting on the team."

"There wasn't time to wait--there was a hostage situation and three guys with C4 strapped to their chests."

"And once you finally made the call, it took me all of 45 seconds to make it downtown," Tony said.

"Is there a point to this, or are you talking just to talk?”

“Yes there's a point-- We can’t both be the wildcard, Cap. There’d be way too many unnecessary explosions and general chaos, and I’m really not cut out to be the reasonable, responsible one. Too damn boring.”

He knew what Tony was doing. It was the same thing Bruce had tried after the Peterson Bridge collapsed with him on it. It was the same thing Thor had said after he’d leapt into the train compartment before the others could follow when giant, mutated bats had invaded the metro. They wanted him to get his act together, but try as he might, he just couldn’t quite convince himself that he should.

It started when Lizbeth Foote died. The 97 year old had fed birds on a park bench every morning for the last ten years, so it only took her a week to notice that Steve went sprinting by every day at the same time, and only a day more for her to strike up a conversation. She’d been born the same year he had, but on the other side of the country in California. When the war started, she worked for Douglas--a real-life Rosie the Riveter. She stitched together B-17s from reformed scrap metal because there was no one else left to do it, and once she’d told Steve that was a lesson to live by, even if he didn’t entirely understand what she meant. When they asked him to speak at the WWII memorial in DC, she had been his date. She’d even put a red bandana in her wispy hair. And when the reporters had turned to her, she’d made them laugh and cry in equal measure, because maybe her legs didn’t work so well anymore, but there had been nothing wrong with her mind.

At least until she had her stroke.

After that, most things stopped making sense to Steve--not that the 21st century made much sense to him in the first place. There were legends come to life, alien invasions, an old friend's son flying around in a metal suit. Not to mention a lover with Alzheimer's, a shady government, a dead brother, and an entire world who knew Captain America, but not a single person who knew Steve Rogers. When he’d woken up, nothing had been familiar, so he'd surrounded himself with familiar things: a Victrola, old furniture made of real wood, the trappings of military life, and when he'd met Liz…

What was that old phrase about drowning men? Because he was drowning now, as sure as if his lifeline had been cut, sending him drifting in a sea of light and electricity and people who lived too fast, crashing against him like waves on a beach, while everything he’d ever known had already been pounded into sand. And if every once in awhile he let the waves push him under, if every once in awhile he liked to flirt with the idea of never coming up for air again, well… why not?

Tony was one reason why not, and the rest of the team gave him four reasons more. It was just hard to remember sometimes. 

But he couldn’t say that--not to Tony, who’d been dragged, bloody and dying, into a cave by terrorists only to walk out Iron Man a few weeks later. Not to Tony, who already had to remind him how to use the TV and remind him that it was perfectly all right to do the things they did in bed. He shouldn’t have to remind Steve that it was ok he was even alive, too.

When he didn’t reply, Tony took the smoothie out of his hand and set it on the counter. 

“Your head’s not on straight.” He leaned close and pressed a chaste kiss to Steve's lips, goatee scratching his chin lightly. Before Steve could kiss him back, Tony had moved on to kiss and lick and nip his way down his neck. It was the best way to get Steve hot and bothered, and Tony knew it.

“And this is supposed to help me think clearer?” Steve asked. He wasn't so far gone that he wasn't embarrassed by his breathless voice.

“Consider it a pep-talk," Tony said. He fumbled with Steve's belt for a moment as he sucked hard on a particularly sensitive spot on his neck. Steve just tilted his head back and hummed, content to let Tony do whatever he wanted. After all, his Captain America uniform usually covered all the marks Tony left on him.

Tony finally unfastened the belt and pulled it from the belt loops completely, letting it fall to the tile floor with a loud clink. He slid his hands into the waistband of his jeans and boxers, his warm fingers brushing against Steve's hips and then lower as he pushed his clothes out of the way. They were standing in the kitchen of the Avenger's Tower, Steve thought distantly. Would someone walk in? That was something that would normally bother him, but he couldn't care less today. He couldn't tell if that made him feel better or worse. 

Steve's cock was only mildly interested at this point, and when Tony saw it, he gave him a fake pout. "Really not on top of our game, are we?" he asked.

"It's not y--" Steve tried to say, but his voice died in his throat as Tony wrapped his hand around his cock and gave it a few tugs.

"It's all right," Tony said, pressing another chaste kiss to the corner of Steve's gasping mouth. "I can fix that."

He dropped to his knees in front of Steve, licking his lips, and damn, if Steve's cock hadn't been too interested before, it certainly was now. He grew hard so quickly it was almost painful, and Tony licking his way up and down his shaft wasn't helping. The counter was digging into his back, and he had to grip the edge of it with both hands to keep himself still. He wanted Tony to stop teasing, to grab his hair and fuck his face, but Tony being impish was a cornerstone of his personality, and Steve had always been self-conscious about his strength in bed. If he got too carried away... 

Besides, he trusted Tony enough to let him draw this out, if that's what he wanted. He'd never disappointed Steve in that area.

After what seemed like an age of Tony's mouth ghosting up and down his cock, his tongue slipping out now and then to flick at the head and press into the slit, his wet, smooth lips sliding along, he finally sucked Steve deep into his mouth.

"Ah, dammit," Steve said and let his eyes slip closed. As good as the sight of Tony on his knees was, focusing solely on the sensation of his wet, warm mouth on his cock was a different matter altogether. It was intense. It was transcendent, it was...

It was too much, apparently, because after mere minutes of Tony sucking and bobbing his head, dancing his tongue along the sensitive underside of his cock, Steve was coming. He stayed exactly where he was and didn't make a sound as it happened, because he felt something break in his chest, like a dam bursting and flooding him with something. 

It wasn't until after Tony had licked him clean and tucked him back inside his pants with a little smirk that he recognized that something as relief. He didn’t even know what he felt relief from--pressure, grief, the crushing realization that he should have died in ‘45 with his best friend instead of living to see a world he didn’t understand. 

But if he had, he’d have missed out on this, on Tony and his insufferable and well-deserved confidence, movie nights in the Tower, betting with Bruce on who would win when Clint and Nat sparred in the gym, getting drunk on Asgardian mead with Thor. He would have missed meeting Lizbeth Foote. He even would have missed meeting Peggy’s grandchildren, which had been one of the best days of his life, no matter how much he wanted her grandchildren to be his as well. 

Tony stood and Steve reached for him, ready to turn the favor, but Tony caught his hands. “Nuh-uh,” he said. “That was all about you.”

Steve considered him for a moment, took in his warm dark eyes, his lips--red and puffy from use, and nodded. Tony pulled away and left, but he stopped as he reached the doorway and turned back.

"There is one thing you can do for me,” he said.

“Anything,” Steve said.

“Cut this 'I wanna die' bullshit. It's not a good look for you." He waited a long moment before Steve managed to nod shakily, and then gave him a smile and walked out the door, leaving Steve to lean on the counter, still flushed and breathing hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHY! CAN’T! I! WRITE! FLUFF!!!
> 
> I just want to write something where everyone is happy 100% of the time and it is stupid hard right now! Why does it all have to be doom and gloom? Is there something wrong with me???  
> Also, not a Sunday, I know, but I needed a break from Paradigm Shift and decided to give this a very very late and much needed update.
> 
> Anyway, this was the prompt:
> 
> Steve thinks that he should have died all those years ago, so he gets reckless: going off to fight the bad guys on his own without backup. Eventually, Steve gets really injured due to his daredevil antics and the team turns to Tony to reason with Steve. Subsequently, Tony gives Steve the best pep talk of his entire life, if by pep talk you mean blow job. And then, casually, as Tony leaves, he turns and goes, "Cut this 'I wanna die' bullshit. It's not a good look for you." AND STEVE DOES.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I can't guarantee a quick update, but I'm hopeful :)


End file.
